


Quiet

by abluecanarylite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cooking, Friendship, Gen, Pack Dynamics, Stiles POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abluecanarylite/pseuds/abluecanarylite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles had become quiet after the events of season 2, but he's not the only one. While pulling the pack together to spend some normal quality time with them, Stiles finds himself confiding in Derek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quiet

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry to the "MTV's Teen Wolf Fanfiction Contest". I was going to wait until they posted the winners to put this up, but I really wanted to put my first attempt at Teen Wolf fic out there.
> 
> Beta'd by Jo & Sarah.

“Hey, Dad?” Stiles lingered in the doorway of John’s bedroom, looking nervous.

The older man continued to fix his uniform, readying himself for another late night at the station. “Yeah, son?” He tried not to notice how quiet the boy was being. It had been at least a month since he won the lacrosse game, and the night they were held hostage. He figured the quiet would have dissipated by now.

But still, Stiles had become quiet. Disconcerting to say the least. Too quiet.

The guidance counselor assured him not to worry, that the two were talking and working things out – but he couldn’t wrap his head around the young man standing in the doorway.

So John tried his best to listen to the quiet.

Stiles finally spoke after fidgeting, seeming to worry about his words too much now. “Would it be okay if I have a few friends over? Just dinner and DVDs. Nothing special.”

He nodded. “Sure, just don’t make too much of a mess, kay?”

The boy bobbed his head, like he used to, a small smirk trying to form at the end of his mouth but falling just as quickly as it had shown itself. “Thanks Dad, be careful tonight.”

John stood and met his son in the doorway, carefully giving him a hug. Felt as though they had been saying that a lot lately, trying to will the universe to stop throwing them curveballs for at least a few more days so that they could breathe, but it felt as though his son was taking the brunt of the swings.

He pulled away and looked down at Stiles’ face, trying to see if he could figure out what was wrong just by studying it, but it was fruitless. “Have fun, okay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, John willed himself to walk down the stairs and out of the house, his son’s eyes lingering after him.

* * *

As the house settled in around him, Stiles stood in the living room texting the pack. Scott was first, who asked if Isaac could come, which was always yes. If he could deal with the occasional Allison for his best friend, he could deal with new pack mates escaping Peter’s weird, watchful eye.

Then came the carefully worded, rewritten several times, text to Lydia, who he still was apologizing to about yelling at her the night Jackson turned. She had already put her foot down a few days before summer break that he had made a good point and that if she found one more poorly folded piece of origami in her locker she was going to poison him. He knew she could and quite possibly would too.

By the time he received back _‘I’m bringing Jackson, no arguments’_ , he was able to finish cleaning the living room. Luckily no one was around to see him bite his phone and attempt his best growl. Heading into the kitchen he tapped Allison’s number, but then thought better of it.

Before he could slide the phone back into his pocket, it buzzed.

 _3 more seats_ , Scott texted.

That could only mean one thing and he half considered sticking his head into the boiling water, but instead pulled out another pot to start another batch of pasta. When everything was simmering, he finally did punch Allison’s number and sent her a text: _Pack night. Mi Casa. Lots of garlic. You up for it?_

For a moment he thought maybe she wouldn’t answer. She had pretty much shut down on Scott, who was doing his best to be as ‘friends only’ as he could, but he was such a puppy sometimes.

_Leftovers later, maybe?_

His cheek actually ached when he felt a smile stretch his face.

_Sure._

Stiles sighed as he stared down at his phone, feeling that quiet settle in over him again, before he punched in a few more words.

_Proud of you._

Dropping his phone on the counter, he pulled his legs up so that he could rest his arms on his knees and rest his head against them. For a moment he thought maybe the house was starting to get to him or that the lack of sleep was finally coming to a head.

His chest tightened and he took in a deep breath to try and ease it, but it wasn’t helping.

The whine of electronics and still air rung in his ears before a voice startled him awake.

_“Don’t forget to stir.”_

Suddenly the house came roaring back to him and he was up and off the cabinet just as the timer chimed. He sucked in deep breaths, practically throwing the pots of pasta into the strainer as he tried to not think of the voice.

His mom and he had always cooked together. She had taught him how to before she passed away. He can almost feel the ghost of her drift through the space, showing him the ropes.

_Mom._

The doorbell rung and Scott let himself in as Stiles tried to calm down. It wouldn’t do him any good against werewolf senses, but he was already prepared with a list of explanations.

If he was good at any one thing, lying would be it.

Scott was too preoccupied though, he came in and hugged him tight around the shoulders, telling him something he wasn’t quite hearing – puppies? Dr. Deaton? Sure, awesome, shoo – he managed, but Isaac lingered for a moment, looking as though he was studying him and asking to help at the same time. Waving him off, he attempted to get the table set before shoveling food into bowls.

Lydia and Jackson were next, the door left unlocked by Scott with the logic that three werewolves could take on anyone thinking of breaking into the Sheriff’s house. Jackson went straight into the living room, but Lydia passed through the kitchen to eye the food and fix a few things on the table before disappearing. When he tossed the premade garlic bread into the oven to toast, the three extra seats knocked on the door.

He heard Isaac almost instantly, greeting Erica, Boyd, and Derek.

_Derek?_

Stiles poke his head out of the kitchen to eye the front door where the dark figure with a pie stood motionless.

Derek Hale was standing on his porch instead of creeping in his bedroom. That was a sure sign that the end was nigh.

“You told me to bring a pie.” The Alpha’s voice practically groaned as his eyes flickered back to Stiles and then away as if embarrassed.

Isaac let out a small laugh. “I didn’t think you’d do it.” He motioned for the other man to come in off the porch before Stiles ducked back into the kitchen.

As soon as the front door closed he lost track of time. He remembered the noise of the house coming to life and the blur of conversation as everyone settled in around the table to eat, but he couldn’t tell you what anyone really said or if he even tasted his food.

Time only stopped when he found himself sitting alone with Derek in the kitchen, the sound of a familiar DVD turning on in the other room. He blinked. Even knowing he had been fully aware to the point he had talked and existed moments ago, but it felt like he had step away from his body for a while and then had only come back to see what his other self had been doing.

“One episode, one, McCall.” Jackson objected, obviously not a fan of post-apocalyptic cartoons. Pity.

Scott defended his choice of entertainment. “You can’t just watch one, that’s blasphemy.”

“I’ve never seen this one…” Isaac piped in and the room went quiet.

“Two, just two, then this one.” Stiles cringed as he heard the new werewolf toss a DVD case onto the coffee table. At least he had his full collection in the living room already. That didn’t mean he wasn’t anxious about fight starting.

Erica’s voice sounded like she was holding back from baring her teeth. “What are you, team leader now? What about one of everything?”

The banter continued until Derek stood up from the table and quietly went into the living room. Stiles thought it was surreal that he still held so much weight with a pack so fractured, but he could feel the air level out before the Alpha returned to show off a DVD box set that practically lived in the player.

“This your favorite?” The other man asked, which again, made him chuckle that he was even pretending not to use his werewolf senses to scent it. He was sure it reeked from traveling up and down the stairs and hanging out where he was the most.

“Yeah. Uh, I’ll be there in a minute, just going to wash dishes.”

Derek nodded before disappearing again.

Starting the dishwater, he heard the DVD come to life with only a few grunts and whines in protest before he swore he heard his name being thrown around under someone’s breath.

“Stiles’ cooked so he gets first choice.”

“Alright, Dad.”

When everything was settled and he thought for sure he would just do the dishes by himself to get his bearings, Derek came back into the kitchen to pick up the dishes from the table and bring them over. He raised an eyebrow as the man passed back and forth for a few minutes, calm with the task, as if he missed it, before starting in. It wasn’t long before he felt a hip brush his and saw a pair of hands slip into the water as well to search for a rag to wash with.

Derek was washing dishes. The end was definitely nigh.

“Dude, it’s okay, I got this.” Stiles insisted, nudging the older of the two away.

Derek made a low, annoyed groan in his throat and he swore they both felt the house go still. Stiles looked back first, eyeing the doorway before Derek looked as well. They each shared a breath before the noise in the house went back to normal.

They were being listened in on.

He gave a light huff of laughter as he turned back to the dishes. It wasn’t that surprising that even with the wreck spring had left them in that each of them was cautious of the other. Stiles figured that with the ratio between Alpha and human, no one wanted to take any chances.

No one figured they should be listening closer to his heart – it hadn’t rushed in weeks. Days even. He felt slow, even on Adderall.

Maybe this was what depression felt like. He didn’t want to know.

Derek’s voice could barely be heard over the sloshing of water. “Thank you for dinner.”

He looked up and nodded, “It’s cool. It was nice to actually get to have dinner with people for once.”

There was a thump in his chest and he realized he was over sharing. Speaking anymore than a few words felt like he was saying way too much these days. It made him feel hollow, even as he brushed shoulders with Derek.

Things were too solid and having people in the house suddenly felt like he was in the wrong place. Like an itch that couldn’t be scratched.

Suddenly Derek nudged Stiles to turn and gently tapped his chest, raising a questioning eyebrow. Another thud made him reconsider his choice of actually eating that day before shaking his head and waving off the unsaid question.

But there was the Alpha, eying him, waiting; making sure no one else heard his question but him. In a house full of werewolves, there was only so much a person could do to keep a conversation private. It kind of made Stiles smile just a little at the sentiment.

What was there to say? How could he explain everything with a motion? There was no point in explaining that the last couple of months had broken a part of his heart. He was useless. Worst of all: he felt alone. Even in a house full of acquaintances and one sort-of-best friend, he had to keep himself together and put on a face. They weren’t listening. He didn’t blame them, they had problems of his own – but it felt like, when he was sleeping, that he was screaming.

But he didn’t sleep, he only managed to pass out, and his heart thudded in response.

After staring at the spot just above Derek’s shoulder so long he could almost feel the werewolf getting antsy, he shrugged. Then, a motion came to him out of his sleep deprived mind.

He threw open his arms, motioning around the kitchen as if to encompass everything. His home, his dad, his friends, his life – everything – like an oncoming storm, before turning back to pat his own chest and motioned that he felt small. Hand falling back to his side he leaned against the counter and looked down at his shoes. He didn’t really want to know what Derek thought of the display. If anything, he felt a tiny sliver of weight float away and he wanted to relish it, despite how distracting the idea that he had told anyone even a tiny part of what was going on in his head.

Minutes pass and Stiles is sure Derek still leaned on the counter beside him, letting Stiles ignore the situation a little longer before he feels the werewolf nudge his hand. He looks up to only see concern. It’s not a look that he’s ever seen on the man’s face before. It’s almost comforting.

Derek nods towards the living room, but he can’t help but notice it’s more of a question than a command. Maybe if he had really been concerned, he would let himself wonder why the Alpha had become less menacing and quieter. Sad. Less demanding.

The world was looking too big for the both of them and their anchors were drifting away left and right.

With a nod, he followed Derek into the living room where they squeezed onto the coach with Erica and Boyd. For the longest time he wasn’t even sure what they had been watching, his mind muffled and almost sluggish to his own DVD.

His head pressed into the back of the couch before he realized he was falling asleep.

* * *

John leaned in the living room doorway and felt something give at the sight before him. In the dawn-light, teenagers, some he has never laid eyes on or even known were close to his son, are sprawled out across the room. He can tell whose dating who and those that crashed from exhaustion. They all look older and haggard, but he knows the look of relief when he studies their faces.

He’s seen it in the mirror.

Glancing at his son on the couch, he tenses at the sight of Derek Hale. The oldest of the group is propped up by his son’s head, both having awkwardly fallen asleep in the night.

He should feel angry or suspicious – but he can’t, not when he thinks how much this must mean to a young man who’s lost so much. Hale was a boy with dark circles under his eyes.

His son was a boy with dark circles under his eyes.

Toeing off his shoes beside the stairs, John Stilinski quietly made his way up to his room.

For one day, he could sleep easy.


End file.
